I WOULD PREFER TO SPEAK JAPANESE

AIM, BELGRADE, June 8, 1994

There are a number of places in Belgrade where
refugees gather. If anyone wishes to meet his former
fellow townsmen, be it those from Sarajevo, Mostar,
Banjaluka... all he has to do is come downtown and visit a
few restaurants: "The Russian Czar", "The Blue Rider", the
former "Kasina", "Cumicevo sokace"... However, there is
another type of refugees in Belgrade. These you cannot
meet, even if you pass them by you will not recognize
them.They are relunctant to speak, they walk with their
heads down, frightened, usually in a hurry, people who would
rather remain unnoticed and have no one address them... They
too are former citizens of Sarajevo, Mostar, Banjaluka, but
without the status of refugees, they are in hiding in
Belgrade and their number is increasing by the day. Usually
they are young men, who according to some, in such times as
ours, should be at the front with a rifle in their hands.
They live in small rented flats, make daily tours of the
embassies in the desire to have their stay in Belgrade last as
short as possible, since they consider it an incidental stop
which they did not voluntarily choose.

This story is the tale of two such thirty-year olds,
from Banjaluka, both in hiding, two friends who met after a
few months. To one, Belgrade offered refuge on his way to
Sweden, to the other, on his way to Germany. M.M. is a
Muslim, S.S. a Serb.

- When he called and we met, we fell into each others
arms, I was really overwhelmed. We almost cried - says M.M.,
who has been in Belgrade for a few months, hiding in a rented
flat.

His friend repeats the same sentence, he also
"almost" cried too.

I didn't believe them, especially, the "almost".

S.S. spent a year-and-a-half in uniform, on the
battlefront.

- I put on a uniform because I was forced to. If you
don't answer the call, you lose your job, your flat, you
have nothing to live on. I though it would all last a very
short time. There were raids on the streets. If you didn't
have a draft book, they would take you away to a small camp.
You were pushed into a van and then beaten. And fron there,
strait to the front. They send you to the very worst positions,
the front-line at Ozren, Doboj, Brcko...

From the outset of the war M.M. hid in Banjaluka. He
did not answer the calls.

- I was afraid of the army, I did not like
uniforms. Also, I did not know who my enemy was. All of a
sudden I began to feel like a stranger in my own city, in
the city I lived in for 33 years. I was frightened, and then
again I though, no one will hurt me, this is my town. Then I
began feeling uncomfortable because all my friends were in
the war. I was nowhere. A stranger, that's what I was.

His friend interrupts him:

- Now there are no more Muslims on the front in the
army of the Republic of Srpska. And even when there were, I
told my friend that, they did all sorts of things with them.
They would send them to the open field between the Muslim
and Serbian armies, unarmed, to dig trenches. They were shot
at by their snipers from one side, and by our soldiers from
the other. I saw that with my own eyes. I couldn't stand it
any longer. They were all people from my city. If you
protest, your own men may kill you. You have to keep silent
all watch all that. It was really depressing.

M.M. - At the end of last year they caught me in a
roundup. They took me to a small camp and asked me why
I wasn't in the army of the Republic of Srpska. You are
a dirty Muslim, go clean toilets. I went to clean the WC, but
two men came after me. They began to beat me. They told me
to stand still, and put my hands in my pockets. They hit me
on the chest and on the back with a truncheon. Then they left
and told me to clean to toilets. I cleaned them. Two other
men came. One hit me on the head, I fainted. Then they sent me
me clean the hall. Whoever passed hit me and told me I was a
filthy Muslim. Then they took me into an office.

Six of them made fun of me. Look at the Muslim, he
should stoop down to us Muslim style in worship. I asked them
why they were doing that, and one of them hit me in the knees.
I had to bow. After that they gave me a green notebook and
told me to read. You speak Arabic, they said, read. I don't
know Arabic, I said, and they began hitting me again. And told
me to stoop in worship. At that moment. a man in a Serbian
uniform and with a Serbian name came in and told them to let
me go. They asked him if he was on my side. I am not, he
answered, but you have been holding him for two hours now.
Then one of them, like in those movies about the Nazis,
offered me a cigarette. What could I do, I took one.He then
jumped at me and screamed that a filthy Muslim was not going
to smoke his cigarettes and started hitting my hands. See, I
still have the scars. After that they took me to a cell. I
had to promise that I would join the army, and they took me
to the recruitment centre. There I told them that I would
not put on a uniform, but that I did want to definitely
leave the city. They changed their attitude at once. How much
time do you need to leave the city. A month, I said. I signed a
paper to that effect.

S.S.- The Muslims who remained in Banjaluka lost
their jobs, not one of them is still employed. They are
cleaning street by street, even the city intellectuals are
in on it. They are expulsing them from their flats. I told
my friend before they caught him: go, there is no life for
you here. You will clean the streets until some extremist
kills you.

M.M. - They threw my father, mother and me out of
our flat. Even my mother who is Serbian. We were proclaimed
enemies of the Republic of Srpska. My mother now lives in a
cellar, my father with his mother. He had two heart attacks.
He is in a hospital for the time being. I have nothing left
in Banjaluka. No one. I left with my wife Bosa, who is
Serbian, for Belgrade. I crossed the border illegaly, since
they do not allow Muslims to leave. We are here now.

S.S. - I, as a Serb, no longer feel well there. Too
many things have changed. It is no longer something I can
live with. I don't feel safe there anymore. They are pushing
ordinary people into war, those who are not well educated,
not smart enough, so to say. People from villages like to
make war. We from the cities do not. The Serbs who do not
wish to take part in the war also feel insecure. Now, its
worse to be a Serb-traitor than a Croat or Muslim.

Some new people have moved in, Banjaluka is full of
them. They are the ones who are ethnically cleansing the
city. I call that a peasants rebellion. We were forbidden to
associate with Croats and Muslims. You could do it but only
clandestinely. There were no more marriages between the Serbs
and them. Because they introduced obligatory marriages both
at the registry office and in church. That is no longer my
city, it is a foreign city, a city I do not know.

M.M. - After some time, when the war began, some of
my friends began passing me by with their heads down. I
thought to myself it was not because I was a Muslim, but
because they were afraid. Yes, that was the reason.

S.S. - A terrible situation, no one could have
thought that something as awful as this would happen. We had
a wonderful life together. Serbia does not mean a thing to
me. While there still was a Bosnia, I felt a Bosnian. One
has to feel Bosnia, its soul. For instance when spring
comes, we in Bosnia have a special saying for trees in
bloom... or else the word "teferic" its meaning can be
understood only by a Bosnian... I am a Serb, although if
someone would hear me now he would think that I was a
Muslim. One has to feel what my Bosnia is. That is what
I wanted to say.

While we talk, a bottle of the cheapest brandy is in
front of us. The two of them keep refilling their glasses.
They say that they are never without brandy.

M.M. tells us that when he left he took something
over a thousand Deutsch marks with him. He has nothing now.
He payed 230 marks rent for the flat, and the landlady is
now asking for 350. He has no more money left. He lied to
her and said he would sell the television set,so she didn't
throw him out. He doesn't know what he is going to do.

- A fear has remained. When I go out, I have a
feeling someone is going to catch me and take me back. I
spend most of the time at home. I have been feeling worse
and worse in the last past month. I have a fear from
persecution. I keep remembering the thaings that have
happened. I felt very badly after the beatings. I spit blood.
I went to see a doctor. I have epileptic attacks. I just
lose consciousness for a few minutes. I suppose everything
inside of me just broke. The pressure, the fear, the anxiety,
it was all too much. I do not sleep well. I just cannot understand
anything. Everything is so mixed up.

The doctor sent him for a scanner examination, but
he did not have the money for it. It costs 100 dinars.

- Where would I get the money?

He hopes to get a visa for Sweden, where he hopes to
get a flat and a job as a refugee.

_ If I go to Sweden, perhaps my life will change.
All those that have left my home town are in Denmark or
Sweden now...I hope to find a place for myself too.

His friend's story is very similar. They experienced
their exile in much the same way.

- I'm staying with cousins, temporarily, I hope I
won't be here more than 20 days. I have a sort of paranoia.
When I see the police, I feel just like in Banjaluka, I'm
frightened someone will ask me something, ask for my draft
book. I'm sick of everything, of this entire country, not
only of the Republic of Srpska but of Yugoslavia too. I
can't bear to hear our language. I would prefer to speak
Japanese.

S.S. has cousins in Germany, and he is hoping to get
a tourist visa. Once he gets there he hopes to regulate his
status.

There is no return to Banjaluka for either of them.
Not while one is a deserter, the other ethnically unsuitable.

Both hope that one day they will dring the mellow
Bosnian plum brandy on the Vrbas River. They hope and make
rounds of the embassies.

- We can, perhaps, keep in touch over the phone.
Most probably that's how it will be.